Opens with dry salty roses that are polite, but not shy. Sweet water seeps in after a half hour, with a cool wet/dry ambroxan musk, and some dusty pink incense smoke rises six inches from the skin all evening. Lasts overnight on cotton, and leans to the floral end of unisex.
I like it. A smart “no-nonsense” professor vibe, and a nice change from the lush, fleshy petal fruit preserves everywhere. (Sadly, at this price our prof needs tenure at an Ivy League school.)
Did the dodo go extinct because they actually smelled like this? Recent studies of their oversized beaks have suggested they had an acute sense of smell–were they so offended by their own species, they refused to mate?
Zoologist’s Dodo smells like screeching black currant cat pee, cheap body spray over unwashed teenager, and fresh basil. For way too long.
Eventually settles to fruit salad with herb dressing tinged with feather musk–but unlike Snowy Owl, it’s not cute downy fluff, it’s molting fowl.
Ugh. No. I hurked in my mouth. My cat ran from the room with his ears back.
An explosion of rotting bananas and decomposing rubber bath toys that settles to moldy marzipan after five wretched hours. (I was so astonished at how vile it was, I had to see how it played out, the way one sits through a bad movie.)
The guy came home and said, “Huh. Not bad,” and now I’m questioning all my relationship assumptions.
Sugary orange gummy candy on top, cheeky and loud, that projects for 2 hours at arms length before slowly drifting down to floral oak-y tea leaves, left to stew in the bottom of the pot. The finish is quite nice, smoky and mysterious, and long lasting on fabric.
Also, this one matures well in the bottle. I’ve an older rollerball as well–five years at least, the juice has turned dark and thick–that opens with a whiff of boozy plum wine before hitting the Brach’s Orange Slices, and has a slightly richer dry-down. I like both equally.
Love this sweet and mysterious song from one of my favorite duos.
The first spray is a sanitizing citrus that fades to weird artificial fantasy flowers–they feel a bit Tim Burton-ish, like they might eat your brains with slurping noises. The dry drown is very cool, a woodsy musk that does a chilly freshwater slow dive that lasts for hours and hours.
Masculine, in a modern knight errant on a trippy quest way, but a Lady-of-the-Lake could pull it off, too.
Tim Burton directed this cute video for the Killers.
This smells like a flirtation at the race track on a sunny day–with a tumbler full of Gin & Juice on the side.
Delightfully bitter citrus, and ebony black oily resins–new tires and gear oil and leather and asphalt, all inky surfaces that get a touch of sweetness as they heat up–that stay close to the skin for the afternoon.
It’s weird but fun, and I really like the dichotomy of it. Minerals gone organic and wild and dark, but bright and warm at the same time, and strangely inviting.
Leans masculine, but I’d wear it on high heel boot days–definitely on the Want-a-Full-Bottle list, and now I’m curious about the rest of the line.
One part Beefeater’s gin, three parts Ruby Red grapefruit juice. Pour over good ice and garnish with lime.
The ad copy says “smooth creamy warming” but I get “edge of the forest hermit.”
The first spray is a burst of sour citrus and vegetables with herbs, in a messy sun-drenched garden way, then everything gets spicy, woody cloves and earthy peppercorns for an hour on the skin. The end is a slow fade of soft with smoky firewood that’s still a bit too green to burn.
I’d really enjoy this on a guy, which is funny, because the guy said he’d enjoy it on me.
The End of the World definitely starts with a bang.
Opens noisy, an explosion of salt and pepper popcorn that leaves one thirsty, then the minerals seep in, metal smoke and charred woods, and concrete rubble. The fallout stays dominant on clothing, but after an hour or two flowers grow on the skin, powdery with a bit of ash, soft and strange.
Weirdly violent, in a post-apocalyptic movie way, and hopefully not prophetic.
Starts with a cuppa ginger tea, a bit of citrus and powdered sugar stirred in, then gets fizzy and trippy.
Tuberoses bloom, bubbly and brash, arguing with the jasmine–who manage to pepper some sharp retorts–in an absurd and delightful Monty Python routine, complete with Silly Walks in vanilla lingerie. There’s a fun colorful vibe, too, in a cartoons-for-adults way, as if the scent cloud is infused with silk scarf hues.
And it lasts for hours, slowly settling close to the body with an occasional carbonated giggling hiccup of ginger ale and woody spice. In the morning it’s still there, a smudge of watercolor sigils on the skin.
Fir and sweet balsam pine, with benzoin making it soft. There’s a timeless quality to Fresh As, as if it could have been worn by a troubadour of centuries past, with stringed instruments made of spruce wood and polished with golden resins, yet also by a modern musician, fresh electric ozone and green Recording-In-Progress lights. Pair with a clever shirt and a tweed cap.
My brother introduced me to this one–I love the way this is filmed, so we feel like we’re in the studio with them.